Rory reacts faster than I do, dropping my arm and stepping in front of me. She puts a hand out, blocking the view of the camera, and stands close to the reporter.
“Leave now. Don’t come back.”
“Eva Ogden withSnoop Scoop, we’re just trying to get a statement from Angel about the murders her father committed fifteen years ago. We’re doing a piece on the families of serial killers, and?—”
Lexi launches herself, trying to tackle the reporter to the ground, but Rory’s arms catch her before she can do the woman bodily harm. Confused, Gracie wraps an arm around me, piecing together that things aren’t exactly great right now, even if she has no clue what’s going on.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lexi hollers at the woman from her sister’s grasp, practically rabid.
“No one here has a comment for you. Leave before I call law enforcement and have you banned from the town for good.” Rory’s voice is ice cold, and I wouldn’t dare defy her if I were them.
“And you are?” the woman asks, not fucking off fast enough.
“Aurora Weiss-Grady, of Smith + Colson, her attorney, and commissioner of the Downtown restoration project, which means it’s within my jurisdiction to have you removed from the premises if you don’t leave now.”
As for me, I’m shaking like the leaves on any of the seasonal trees spaced every ten feet or so on either side of the entire downtown stretch.
It feels like I’m outside my body, watching this happen from up the street. I can still hear conversation and laughter all around us, on both sides of the road, but it’s faint, and barely makes it past the ringing in my ears.
Rory says some other things that sound scary, but I can’t make them out. Lexi frees herself from her sister’s hold and turns to put an arm around my shoulder, taking me from Gracie and steering me to the western parking lot at the center of downtown where our designated drivers wait for us.
Poor Gracie watches on, confused, probably horrified at who she’s been befriending, but my eyes can’t see much of anything right now to put it together. I focus on controlling my breaths, trying to take in my environment, but it’s not working the way it usually does.
Because this isn’t so different from what happened before. This is going to be on the news, airing abhorrent tragedy to pull views, just like those first days and weeks all that time ago. Except it’s just me they’ll be showing.
And this time I have something left that matters to me, something I don’t want to be collateral damage in the aftermath of what comes next.
A brisk clattering of heels on the sidewalk, then Rory’s arm is around me, too, having caught up with us. Her warm, expensive scent grounds me a little, bringing some shred of comfort as the women surround me, escorting me to the waiting pickup where Weston, Wyatt, and Gracie’s husband Ronnie are all gathered around the tailgate, still having their own boys’ night, an overflow from the bar, I guess. Wilder, the new chef at the restaurant, is there too.
As soon as Weston sees us, when we round the back of the building that houses the cafe and make it to his line of sight in the parking lot, he’s sprinting over. He takes over, wrenching me from the grasp of the girls, and wrapping me up in his arms.
“What happened?” he asks me.
I don’t have the words to answer him.
“A reporter came,” Rory says in a hushed tone, all business. “They are planning a series on the surviving families of famous killers, and they tracked her down and wanted an interview. Some sick gotcha journalism.”
“Theywhat?” Weston’s voice is stony, furious.
“They’re gone now,” Rory assures him, and I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to alert the sheriff’s office and make sure we don’t see them again in the Heights. I’ll send a cease and desist letter from any harassment or unwanted contact as your attorney. I’ll need to consult some legal codes first, this isn’t my usual. Maybe just get some sleep, Amelia.”
Weston presses his lips to the top of my head, and it gives me something to focus on in the here and now.
Something other than the fear of my worst secrets, my entire past, and the new identity I’ve worked so hard to create all being blown wide open and published for the world to use against me, all because I stopped moving and the past caught up to me, wiping out any chance of a future here.
TWENTY-FIVE
WESTON
No article has been published in the week following the confrontation after the soft opening. Rory and I check every single morning, preparing for the worst.
I love my sister-in-law for doing what she could to try to get them to back off, but unfortunately their protection as a media organization gives them the right to publish just about anything, including something that doxxes a normal person and runs the risk of ruining her entire life.
Public records are public records apparently.
From what Rory has said, it seems like this particular publication is all about sensationalizing aspects of pop culture to get clicks, and they’re not too worried about sticking to the truth. Fortunately, or unfortunately, true crime is having quite the moment in pop culture right now, which is, I guess, what they’re after.
Seems kind of ironic that the one place Amelia found comfort and healing from her trauma, true crime, has these bottom feeders living off of the hype generated by those who are giving the industry a good name, like Jynx. That some of these assholes are going to make a mockery of her life rather than bother creating something that takes skill, like a documentarywith willing participants, or an exposé on people who actually committed the crimes—not stirring up scandal about those whose lives were ruined because of the evil of others and have been trying to rebuild.
